


Traumen

by Sondersturm (lufthexe)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufthexe/pseuds/Sondersturm
Summary: Before, Jean dreamt of the apocalypse, all fire and flame. Now, she dreams of being torn apart, and somehow it feels so much worse.Set post-apocalypse, in which Erik stays at the mansion, and the weight of his loss is unwittingly affecting more than just himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Marked underage as Jean is canon ~17

It took days of hard work and concentrated effort to rebuild the mansion. 

Where Jean might have been uneasy working with Erik before, the steady labor and necessary synchronicity forced a companionship that she wouldn't have considered possible a week ago. But then again, he had changed sides in the end. 

Who knew what truly motivated the man. His helmet hadn't reappeared since he decided to stay, and consequently Jean took extra precautions not to read his mind, figuring he'd be much more aware of it than most. And truly, she did not want to know. 

But he was a huge help.

He focused on the steel beams; more his forte, yet also the most burdensome of materials. However, he never complained, or even appeared strained, even as Jean sweated and concentrated hard enough to give herself a migraine by the end of the third day. 

By the time they had fixed the framework, Scott and the other students had made hasty progress on the interior, though much of that was likely due to Peter. The first time he had zipped by and taken a board she was starting to lift, she nearly dropped out of the air in shock, Erik turning quickly to watch as she struggled to gain height again, his son streaking across the yard, her mind racing. 

She tried not to let the hitch affect her self-confidence, but it was already shaky at best. She may have helped take down En Sabah Nur, and rescued her fellow classmates from Stryker, but that was far from having mastery over her powers, or ever a fraction of control the Professor, or even Erik had. 

And honestly, she was still exhausted from such an out-pouring of her powers. So by the time she was able to explore her new bedroom, all she truly cared about was the mattress.  
________________________________________

Jean's nightmares of the apocalypse had ceased with the destruction of En Sabah Nur, and yet now her dreams had morphed into something much more jarring. A reprieve would have been a blessing, deserved, even, after such a battle. Instead, though, she saw flashes of a small wooden house, could feel the knots in the wood as her fingertips brushed along the side of the structure, her eyes fluttering as the yard teemed with animals, birds swooping low enough she could feel the brush of their feathers on her bare arm. And then she heard the screams, the piercing cries from the woods as her heart dropped out of her chest. She hesitated, and then all she could feel was pain, crushing guilt as it felt like her body was being torn asunder. 

She woke screaming from the pain, her bedside lamp already flung across the room with enough force to shatter the bulb, glass embedding into the carpet as Jean's fingers twitched, trying to resist the urge to do more. The gasping breaths that escaped her were barely enough to slow her frenzied pulse, burying her face in her knees as she sat up, her copper locks sticking to her forehead from the cold sweat that had her skin riddled with goosebumps. She did her best to calm her mind, trying the meditation techniques Professor Xavier had begun to teach her; yet her mind did not want to leave the vision of the house, the sensation of being torn apart. 

She shook herself out of that line of thought before she end up right where she had been. She had to calm her mind, or the professor might come to check on her. It was bad enough that she was his most challenging student, bad enough that she could not even be paired with a roommate for fear of these occurrences; the last thing she needed to do was wake him up in the middle of the night with more of her inane nightmares and uncontrolled flickers of power.

Shuddering, she pulled her blankets around her, curling up and praying for sleep. 

________________________________________

Sleep came, but it was not restful, and in the morning Jean felt as if she had slept only an hour or two in total. The tea she usually drank in the morning simply did not cut it, and her responses to her classmate's conversation was lagging, and altogether quite uninspired. History class had threatened to put her to sleep, and while the Professor's ethics class was usually the highlight of her day, Jean spent so much effort focusing on shielding him from her thoughts that she barely caught the lesson he was trying to impart upon them.

She would deliberate later on why she considered her dream significant enough to keep it to herself. 

She was so distracted that she nearly ran into Kurt as she rushed from the classroom, hoping to avoid Scott this once as he would keep her at least another half an hour to continue discussing the class's topic. 

Usually, she would have been happy to have a chance to further discuss it. Today, all she could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. 

She hurried back to her room, hoping to be able to sleep for a blessed hour before training with Raven and the other x-men later. There was no way she'd survive whatever sort of torture Raven had concocted for them today without more rest.

Her lamp still lay broken on the carpet due to her rush to leave for class that morning, and the mental concentration she needed to move it over to her nightstand sounded like an insurmountable feat at the moment. Dropping her heavy bookbag to the floor, she flopped onto her bed, letting her pillow muffle her moan of pleasure at the cool sheets. The exhaustion caught up to her, and she barely had the sense to kick her shoes off before passing out, a flung out arm forcing the curtains to shut out the filtered daylight. 

She woke to a hand on her shoulder, gasping as she sat up quickly, disoriented at first as Jubilee slowly came into her vision. "We're going to be late, Jean, come on," she was saying, trying to find her other shoe for her, and all she could think was how she longed to curl back into the warmth of her bed. Groaning, she stumbled out of bed, hurriedly throwing on her shoes as they rushed down the hallway to the field where Raven had asked them to meet. 

________________________________________

Her muscles were screaming by the time she managed to trudge up to the main campus building, strands of hair plastered to her forehead and her hands still dirty from the combat moves they had been practicing. If Jean could have had Kurt just teleport her into her room, she would have, but at the moment he seemed as though he might collapse were he not leaning heavily on Jubilee. 

Though that may have been simply for show. 

So it was really no surprise that when Jean turned the corner to her bedroom's hallway, she ran right into Professor Erik, a strangled noise escaping her throat as the tearing sensation hit her with full force, nearly causing her to double over as she tried to move past him towards her dorm. He was speaking to her, trying to ask her something, but the hallway was slowly spinning, and it was all Jean could do to hurry towards her door, trembling hands pushing it open before she collapsed on the floor. 

________________________________________

Erik swirled the remains of his coffee, wishing not for the first time that Charles had not expressly forbidden alcohol on the school premises. Her pale face, eyes full of pain, had sent him straight to Charles. Fear, he could have understood. Hell, half the students probably hated him, with all that he had done. But pain? She hadn't looked injured, so he had to assume it wasn't a physical ailment. And beyond that, Erik had no means to decipher what was bothering the young girl, not when she had nearly tripped over herself trying to escape him. 

More troubling, too, was the rumor that she had successfully predicted the apocalypse before it had come to fruition. If this had anything to do with another super-powered mutant...he doubted they were quite recovered from the last one. 

Charles sat across the table, no doubt trying to subtly pry into the poor girl's mind. That was not something he envied. After what seemed like a longer wait than usual, much of which was likely spent in a tempest of internal debate on morality, Charles looked up at him, his expression full of concern. Erik gritted his teeth, unconsciously prepared for the next apocalypse, fist already tightening around the handle of his mug. 

"You're projecting," he said after long last, sounding nearly remorseful at his proclamation. Before Erik could open his mouth to ask him what the hell he meant by that, Charles continued. "She's suffering your losses, Erik, your emotions, and it's tearing her apart." 

Erik was out of his chair, pacing the moment the words registered. "Why didn't you say anything?" He accused, feeling off-kilter at this entire line of conversation. He didn't even bother refuting the idea that he was projecting; of course he was. He hadn't even had a day to grieve before En Sabah Nur had showed up and promised him retribution for his family. But for Charles to not say anything? That was grossly out of character for him. 

"My assumption is that my mental shields are strong enough to block it out; Jean has not had quite enough training to shield herself from such a concentrated amount of...emotion," he continued, looking at Erik sympathetically. 

The teaspoon in Charles's cup was bending, but he didn't seem to mind, or at least pretended not to notice. "And what am I supposed to do, then? Leave? Or let the girl suffer?" Erik bit out, irate at the lack of options. There was nothing he could do to try and hold in his grief; it was as much a part of him as his powers were. 

"I have a few ideas," began Charles, bending his spoon back into shape against the edge of the table. "But you must be willing to work on addressing your grief," he leveled a gaze at Erik, whose mouth was a grim line. After what seemed like an eternity, Erik nodded, moving to leave before Erik could talk him into a goddamn therapy session. He was nearly out the door when Charles commented, "you know, I am a telepath. And you're going to some sort of therapy."

This time, the spoon was bent beyond repair.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep came easily for Jean, and yet, the nightmares were ever-present. They always caught her unawares, blending into regular dreams until her mind was awash with the pain and misery of confusing images, memories of another blending into the reality of her terrors. 

She managed to stifle the screams this time, just barely. The sobs, though, came rushing in just as quickly, her hand pressed to her mouth to muffle the sound as she tried to suppress the shudders wracking her body. The room was still dark, the only light filtering in from the hallway underneath her door; far too early for anyone to be awake. And yet, by the time Jean calmed herself from the blur of tears that lingered on her eyelashes, she shoved her covers away, pulling on a worn-out sweatshirt before braving the soft light of the hallway, eager to escape the dark confines of her room that only seemed to hold pain. 

She stumbled her way down to the communal kitchen, the soft glow from under the cabinets enough to light her journey towards the mugs, pulling her personal favorite, an out of season Christmas mug adorned with holly and bows, as the tin of hot chocolate mix floated from the far pantry towards her outstretched hand. 

She just managed to catch it as it fell just short of her fingertips, her focus shot as her mind still wandered to the violent images that plagued her. Gritting her teeth, Jean managed to concoct the mug of hot chocolate before drifting into a deserted study, the plush chair by the bookshelf her sole destination. While it may not have had any sort of privacy like her bedroom might, it was good enough for her, and she folded herself into the cushions as she cradled her drink, the warmth pressing into the palms of her hands. Focusing on the small sensations of the smooth ceramic mug in her palm, the warmth of the cushions surrounding her, she could almost forget the eyes of the little girl that had appeared in her dreams. 

________________________________________

Erik had stayed up after his talk with Charles, pacing the halls till late into the night as he tried to make sense of the conversation, and how he was supposed to help a girl with more power than anyone so young should be burdened with.

So when his distracted pacing brought him to the small study close to the kitchens, he was surprised to find it already occupied, the very girl in question curled up in a cushioned chair, a mug set on the floor next to her. And by the look of it, she was sleeping; her ginger hair falling over her face as her breath shuddered in and out, fingers flexing slightly each time she shifted in her sleep. 

He would have left her to sleep, albeit in such an odd place, had she not sent a book careening into the wall closest to him. His eyes widened, turning to her quickly; yet, she was still asleep, her eyes still closed even as the bookshelf next to her started to rattle. Swearing softly, Erik was torn between simply waking Charles to deal with this situation, or dealing with it himself. The latter won out as more of the heavy books began to float from the bookshelf, the girl's face contorting in what looked like pain. 

Erik was swatting books out of the way by the time he reached her, her face pale as he shook her shoulder slightly, and then again with more force when she did not respond. Again, though, she ignored his actions, her eyes remaining stubbornly shut as more books slowly levitated. Growling in frustration, Erik pinned down the shaking bookshelf by the metal frame. "Jean," he implored, his hand still at her shoulder. But she still refused to wake, whimpering and recoiling. The room itself now seemed to shake, and Erik was on the verge of waking Charles, nearly shouting, "Jean!" When her eyes finally opened, a startled gasp leaving her as the room stilled, books falling to the floor with heavy thuds. 

"Professor?" she questioned, her voice a breathless whisper, still rough from sleep.

She might have flinched back, had she not already been pressed to the back of her chair. Her eyes, though, while still clouded with sleep, were all too aware of his movements, looking like a trapped animal, more like Nina than his heart could take without piercing pain. He pulled his hand away from her slowly, trying not to startle the girl. 

Jean's eyes were wide and dark, her breathing labored, embarrassed at the outburst. 

"Jean, it's alright," he tried to comfort, wishing again that Charles was there. 

"No," she cut off, shaking her long hair in front of her eyes. "This is not normal." She looked away, feeling vulnerable now. "It could be En Sabah Nur returned, or..." Erik cut her off with a raised hand.

"It's...it's not like that, liebling," and now he was losing his sense of detachment; she was too close to his past. She scooted forward, confused, and he found himself lowering down to her level, crouching so as to not tower over the poor girl that he now felt way too responsible for. She alone knew the all-consuming grief that haunted him, maybe even more so than Charles. 

And she did not deserve that torment. 

"I'm so sorry..." she starts, but he shakes his head in disagreement.

"It's my fault for letting it affect you. Charles says I'm projecting," he grits out, looking away. 

"Oh," was all Jean could say in response, because god, who lived with that kind of pain? "Are you...alright?" She asked, knowing it was a foolish question before she even bothered to ask it. Erik laughed brokenly in response, and Jean felt chagrined. 

"I don't think I will ever be 'alright', liebling," he admitted. "But it is not my place to burden you with that, Jean." He looks back to her, convicted. 

"It's my fault for not being more skilled at shielding--it's still hard to block everything out." The poor thing had the audacity to look apologetic for not mastering a skill that had taken Charles years to hone. 

"I doubt even Charles could have shielded against it at your age," Erik tried to encourage, standing again. The girl's exhaustion was starting to show; the dark circles more prominent against her pale skin and freckles. 

"If you want to try to sleep again, I can see if Charles will shield my mind until morning." He promised, hoping she would take the offer. But Jean shook her head in rejection. 

"I doubt I'd be able to sleep again tonight anyways," she replied with a shrug. And really, even if Professor Xavier was able to shield her from Erik's mind, that wouldn't help the memories of what she had already seen; the eyes of a small girl, fear, and then so much pain. "Thank you, though," she said softly, barely noticing as her footsteps never quite touched the floor. "I'll see you later, Professor," she drifted towards the hall, clearly looking to escape. 

He nodded at her, distractedly picking up the empty mug left next to her chair as she disappeared down the hallway. There were still books scattered about the room, but they were the least of his concerns.

_Scheisse_ , what was he going to do about her?


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until dawn broke the Jean was able to attempt sleep again, and it only lasted a short while before her alarm went off, cheerfully reminding her that she still had classes to attend, even if she was running on two hours of sleep. She knew the professors would be more than forgiving if she chose rest over class, but the last thing she wanted was to lose her perfect attendance. Not to mention, the routine of classes and assignments was cathartic, in a way. The routine kept her focused, present; the less her mind wandered, the less likely she was to be caught in the endless loop of Erik's memories. And thankfully, there was no combat practice today. 

By the time lunch is over, though, she is fading quickly, and she still has another two classes before she can go back to her room and hopefully fall into an exhaustion-induced coma. It's vexing - she knows she needs to focus on her studies, increase her skills so she is not so affected by everyone's emotions and thoughts. But it's hard enough to simply keep a focused gaze on the board, let alone put up mental shields. Scott is worried because he forgot to do the reading that Professor Hank is going over, while Kurt is wondering if he can teleport a note to Jubilee's desk. For a moment, she is jealous that they have such trivial things to worry about - how grateful she would be to go a day without replaying Erik's horrific memories through her mind. But she quickly chastises herself for such a thought - they were all still teenagers; there was no reason for all of them to be burdened with such thoughts, especially when many of them had helped stop what had nearly been the end of the world. And she knows, if she pressed harder, she would see more - Scott's lingering grief from the death of his brother, and Kurt's feelings of displacement, thrown into a country he did not know with a language that was hard at best, and near impossible at worst. The thought is sobering, and wakes her up enough to copy down the assigned reading Hank - it was hard to get used to calling him Professor - had written on the board. If she had more time, she might have worried more about her friends and their own personal troubles. But with each day of less and less sleep, it was all Jean could do to focus on herself, and Erik by extension. It felt selfish, but hopefully there would be time to talk to her friends later. 

________________________________________

The last class of the day is the one she is dreading the most - her private lesson with Professor Xavier. If she asked, she knew Charles would probably reschedule for a later date when she was more rested. However, training with the Professor was possibly the only thing that would help alleviate the nightly intrusions. And it was very likely that he already knew about the incident in the library; Erik might not have said anything, but Charles was _psychic_. Sighing, Jean grabbed her bag and slipped into the busy halls, letting the current of students carry her to the grand staircase, her slow trek to the Professor's office accompanied by fewer and fewer students the closer she came to his door. There was no point in hesitating - Charles would know the minute she reached the threshold. Tentatively turning the handle, she let herself in, heading for her preferred armchair as the professor finished marking a few essays. 

"No need to get too comfortable, Jean, I won't keep you for long. I'm sure you're exhausted enough for the day," the professor looks up from his work, his concerned gaze far more knowing than she might have been comfortable with had she not trusted him so implicitly. Jean didn't bother to protest, nodding at the sentiment. 

"Now then, I wanted to run an idea by you that I think might be of some help in regards to Erik's...shall we say, _intrusive_ thoughts." The professor looks to her, gauging her reaction. While hesitant to even broach the topic, Jean nods again, more than ready for some form of relief. Surely the professor could think of some remedy. 

"I believe that the concepts of immersion therapy might be best utilized in this instance--that isn't to say constantly reliving Erik's memories", he quickly interjects as Jean's expression grows panicked. "But systematic desensitization, or graduated exposure therapy, might be the most permanent relief for now, until we've enhanced your ability to block everyone out."

Jean wasn't thrilled about the prospect, her hands unconsciously worrying at the arm of her chair. Biting her lip, Jean glances up. "What _exactly_ did you have in mind, Professor? I can barely sleep as it is."

Charles tries not to let his concern show too plainly on his face. "Erik is clearly broadcasting his memories at all times, however when you are both asleep, you become more vulnerable to it. Him, because it's all he can think about, and you, as your defenses are lowered." Jean nods in agreement. She hadn't been plagued with Erik's thoughts during the day, now that she thinks about it. 

"Due to this, I believe that having the two of you spend more time together during the day will achieve the gradual exposure we're trying to achieve. Your defenses will be up, and he will hopefully be more distracted from his memories. I've already discussed this with Erik and he agrees with my approach, though he is...as usual, less than enthusiastic."

Jean's mouth twists as she considers this, understanding the Professor's logic, though the thought of spending a set amount of time with Erik a week - it makes her stomach twist with trepidation. Especially when she considers his reluctance. 

"What are we supposed to _do_ , then?" She questions, unsure about the whole arrangement. "And how long are we supposed to be together? And how often?" Perhaps it sounds panicked to the Professor, but she can't help but be anxious at the idea of spending a mandated hour or so a week with the world's most wanted mutant-turned grieving widower. 

"I'll leave that to the two of you to work out; I know you're busy with your studies, and Erik will no doubt be conscious of that. Though the more you two are able to spend time together, the faster you will likely progress." The professor holds her gaze, switching easily from professor to fellow mutant and friend. "I'm not trying to do to this to punish you, Jean. I simply want you to be able to learn to do this on your own, in a controlled way. I'm not able to shield you at all times; as I said earlier, Erik's thoughts are quite intrusive." 

With the way the professor grimaces, Jean can't help but wonder if he is plagued with reliving Erik's thoughts as well. Though perhaps he does it more as a friend, as less as an unwilling participant. Picking up her bag, Jean stands. "Alright, Professor, I'll give it a shot," she concedes, hoping that she can at least avoid talking to Erik until tomorrow. She's about at her limit for conversation and pretending to not be exhausted. 

Charles smiles at her acquiescence, waving her to the door without the usual litany of assignments for the weekend, bidding her to try and rest. The hallways are quiet for once, and Jean slowly makes her way back to her room, pondering the Professor's idea, and what all it would entail. 

________________________________________

As tired as she is, she still hesitates to climb into bed, because that means she'll be forced to repeat the same tragic memories she's seen each night now. But sleep wins out, and she gives in to her exhaustion, missing dinner entirely for an early chance at rest. 

At first, it's the same. Replaying the day with his wife and daughter, the soldiers, the rage and grief all tearing through her. Jean shudders in her sleep, tossing and turning at the dreams. After a few hours, though, the dreams thankfully subside. Relaxing for the first time in days, Jean truly sleeps.

________________________________________

It's still dark when Jean awakes, the dawn not yet breaking on the horizon. She feels wide awake, though; the depth of her sleep and how used to going without she was made the early hours of the morning seem the ideal time to get up and make breakfast- she had missed dinner last night, after all. 

Luckily, no one is around to ask her why she's up and moving so early. While she feels better than she has in days, it is still early in the morning, and Jean's desire for conversation is low. 

She's nearly to the kitchens when she passes the study Erik had found her in the night before. If she hadn't of stopped to look in, she would have missed the slumped body in the shadows of the bookshelf -- Erik sleeping at one of the desks in the far corner, books still strewn about in front of him. Jean flinches at the sight of him, ready for the onslaught of memories, but feels...nothing. Not even feelings of exhaustion, or pain. Only silence.

Inching closer, Jean can just make out the light from the hallway glinting off Erik's helmet. 

Oh

Maybe he was trying to shield his thoughts. Perhaps he had grown weary of her constant intrusion on his most private moments. That would be understandable. But a small voice in her head wonders if he had worn it for her, less as a defense, and more as a way to let her sleep. 

The thought felt heavy in her chest, the sight of him lingering in the forefront of her mind long after the sun had risen over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mantiz for the suggestion for Erik to wear his helmet; it won't be a long-term solution, of course, but it is an effective short-term remedy


	4. Chapter 4

The first week is awkward for both of them; neither of them quite wants to be there, though at least Erik is ignorant of her thoughts. Unfortunately, Jean can feel all of his passing desires; for different company, for less papers to grade, for his helmet. For his family. For sleep.

So she tries to keep to herself, not distracting him with conversation as she might have previously indulged. He adopts her habits, and they end up sitting in the study together most days, Jean working on class projects, and Erik grading papers. 

In time, they relax into the familiarity of the situation. Jean can read Erik well enough to know when to interrupt with a question, likewise he has learned to recognize the furrow of her eyebrows when she is concentrating, and he should not interrupt her with opinions on a student’s paper. Perhaps it is a bit unorthodox, to ask of her opinion on one of her peers’ works, but nothing about this arrangement has been orthodox, and Jean has not seemed like a regular student to him ever since their encounter with En-Sabah-Nur. 

________________________________________

The professor’s plan was slow-coming, but fruitful. As Jean had become more accustomed to the super-powered mutant, so to was she able to block out his thoughts; now only the most extreme emotions and memories permeated the surface of her mental shields. It was something they worked at, her and Professor Xavier, when time allowed. For the most part, her fellow students no longer bothered her; overexposure to the crowded hallways and clustered classrooms had helped Jean to tune them out; it became a white noise in the background of her head instead of a running commentary of all her classmates’ private thoughts. Still, it took a constant effort. Distraction on her part could mean a barrage of thoughts infiltrating her mind, something Erik was working on with her.

She’d be reading, catching up on classwork, even practicing her telepathy, and Erik would unintentionally drift back to thoughts of his late family; each failure of her mental shields would mean his grief would come crashing back on her. That was punishment enough for Jean to strive to be better; the slight feeling of disappointment that would filter through? That was torture. 

At the beginning of their sessions, she would be alert and focused, but as time would pass, Jean would grow more complacent; it was easy to, with the sunlight filtering in through the window, the soft whoosh of the pens floating around Erik’s head, and with a good hour of reading some of Hank’s prescribed supplemental books, Jean would be lulled into a false sense of security, her mind drifting away from the comfortable study to daydreaming. 

It was easy to escape when you had so many people’s memories to escape into. She tried to avoid the obviously painful ones; her family was off-limits, as was her childhood home. Memories of public schools weren’t much better, so Jean would revert to what she had pried from others; the many places Kurt had traveled to, some of the vacations Scott had taken with his brother and their parents. The beach was nice; the woods were better. Kurt had traveled through some beautiful forests in Europe; while the emotions were not always pleasant, at least she could focus on the views, and see something her sheltered suburban life had not allowed her to experience. 

Sometimes, when Erik would catch her drifting, he would leave her be. It was one of the only times she would relax around him; even while reading or working on homework her shoulders would be tense, trying too hard to block everything out when it was easier to just let it filter through. It was something that only came with time and practice, though, as even Charles had struggled with it throughout his youth. 

Erik doubted Charles had told Jean much in the way of her true potential. Gods, she was strong; stronger than any they had encountered before. The reason the voices were so loud was because of the reach of her power; the stronger her power grew, the more people she could reach. Her net was cast further and further with each passing day, adding one new voice to the cacophony of sound. He did not envy her, but he respected her strength, her will to continue on. Even as he noticed the slowly setting sun, she stayed focused on her studies, the light dimming in the study with each passing moment. 

“You should go now, Jean. We’ll meet again in a day or so,” He commented, flicking on the lamp next to him. She nodded, more tired than anything, and collected her books from the table before making her way to the door. She did not know what would await her tonight; each night, it differed. Sleeping became less desirable when there was always the silent threat of such nightmares. Erik, too, looked tired, but that had become more or less second nature for him. 

“Good night,” she called out softly, halfway through the door, heading towards the kitchens. 

If she wasn’t telepathic, she might have missed the “Gute nacht,” that escaped him long after she had left the room. 

________________________________________

The next day Charles roped them into combat training; not that Erik needed it; it was more for Jean than himself. But he dutifully pulled on the flexible armor Charles called uniforms sans helmet; it felt strange not to don it, but it was necessary to further help with Jean’s exposure therapy. He stepped into the what the students had dubbed the ‘Danger Room’, the few students allowed in there had already gathered inside. Among them, Jean stood chatting with the young Summers boy, the german portal-jumper and Raven joining them, as well as the Egyptian orphan and Jubilee. Hank was undoubtedly the one in the control room running the simulation, with Charles at his side. All in all, they were powerful group, but how they all worked together was yet to be seen.

The simulation was a new one; it relied less on the usual robotic enemies and more on situational awareness, something young fighters often forgot to consider. The scenery changed intermittently to present new challenges and dangers; Erik hung back to allow the younger, more eager members of the party take the brunt of the simulation’s attacks. This was more about being close to Jean in a combat situation than actually participating. Or so he thought. As the scenery evolved, it became clear that this was more about keeping each other alive; specifically, himself. 

Storm had teamed up with Jubilee in an attempt to fight off the swarms of possessed insects the Danger Room had managed to conjure; Summers and Jean were stuck in the vines of the jungle they were currently trapped within. Kurt was adapting the best, as he was the one most able to jump from place to place without becoming entangled in the jungle’s treacherous reach. 

Erik hadn’t given much thought to his own location, however, until he started sinking. The ground –Gott in Himmel, it was fucking quicksand; the metal in this conjured environment was nearly nonexistent. He could feel himself being sucked in quickly; of all the bloody ways to be taken out. This must have been Charles’s attempt at humor. His grunts of frustration are all but ignored; Raven just rolls her eyes at him and focuses back on the avoiding the clearly poisonous plants, trying to get to Jean and Summers. If this was a test in teamwork, it was a good one; for once, he was the least powerful of them all. He knows he could simply rip the computer systems out from the next room, but Charles would short-circuit if his precious computers had to be rebuilt and replaced. 

And now he was trapped, slowly sinking. He knew the Danger Room had the potential to injure; did it also have the capability to kill? He wasn’t sure. He was up to his chest now in muck, trying not to move around too much to sink any faster. Summers and Jean were still struggling with the vines; Summers was still not quite accurate enough with his vision to try and blast the vines off from them; best case, the room would be singed, worst case, Jean would be maimed. Not a pleasant thought. He was getting close to considering shutting this whole thing down; swallowed up to his neck in the mire, his ability to breathe was diminishing. 

Until Raven unceremoniously wrenched him from the mud, throwing him free onto the grass. “Be careful,” she chastised, as if he was a nubile student at his first training session. Erik bristled, but brushed himself off right before the red beams nearly sliced through him. 

They cut through trees, through the brush, singing the simulated land and heating up the arena. Jean and Summers were freed from the vines with one lucky beam; though it nearly cut off the boy’s foot. 

They multiplied, though, and Erik found himself dodging the insipid manipulations of Charles by any means necessary; dodging and rolling were no longer above him. He managed to shove Raven out of the way of one beam, though she still glared at him when she stood back up. 

He heard the shout before he saw it coming; one minute, he was standing, the next he was knocked to the ground. Being pushed around with telekinesis was always an unsettling feeling; Jean had already moved on to helping Scott dodge around the beams; he was not as nimble as the teleporter, who was helping Jubilee as best he could.

The first injury was, surprisingly, Kurt. A beam managed to singe him on the shoulder; his cries of pain drew Storm’s attention, who barely escaped another one, though losing a lock of hair in the process. 

She would undoubtedly be mad about that later. 

Later, he would not be able to recount what it was that ultimately distracted him; only that one minute, he was standing there, and the next, he was hit, grunting with pain as he stumbled to the ground, clutching his ribs with a gasp. There were beams everywhere, surrounding them, heading straight for him until Jean shielded them all, the weight of the telekinetic barrier straining her powers as he watched her, truly watched her; it was as if her eyes had turned completely red, and she cried out as the strain became too much, every beam now focusing against her and her shields, which held despite the trembling of her hands. 

If they failed, they’d all be dead in seconds. But surely Charles knew that, as well. There must be a reason for this, though Erik failed to see it in the moment. He could still barely breathe, clutching his ribs tightly as he looked for a way to help Jean; she was strong enough, he was sure of that, but having her access the full extent of her powers was not something they had practiced, or even discussed. He had assumed Charles would be the one to broach that subject. Not an internationally-hunted mutant with a problem with self-control. 

The others surrounded her closely, her shields closing in on them as the beams pummeled against her, sweating at the exertion. Erik could see the cracks in her shields; she would not be able to hold up much longer. The emotional onslaught of using power of that kind; her shields were well and fully down, though perhaps that was the point of this exercise. Jean fought against the feeling of desperation, knowing she could not fail, not when everything depended on her succeeding. 

She could feel all of their fear, all of their desire for this simulation to be over, to be safe and away from her. Their faith, their doubt in her. Their hope, their despair. It was almost too much, if not for the calm, confident thread Erik's mind lent her. Though in pain, and concerned about their situation, he trusted her still to be strong enough to endure this. To conquer this. 

________________________________________

It's the way that she cries out when she falters, he thinks later. Logically, he'd know Charles could shield all of them from any artificial danger, especially dangers of his own making. He knows, as well, that she is more than strong enough to withstand the beams, to destroy the room if she wanted to. But in the moment, when he hears her cry out, his first instinct has him ripping a panel from the wall to shield all of them, sending metal shrapnel towards the weapons emitters. 

And then it shuts down, before it can truly injure them, and Erik is left with a dismantled panel bobbing next to him, feeling a bit foolish at the overreaction. He had never been the protective sort--not until his daughter, of course--so why now, in a room where no real danger was present, did he find himself shielding the students?

Not the students--Jean, his mind supplied, unhelpfully. Even now, as they all stumble towards the exit, he keeps a trained eye on her, watching her exhausted limp towards the door. She stumbles for a moment before Kurt steadies her, and Erik finds his hand is already extended, poised to catch her. Clenching his fist, he pulls it back, gritting his teeth as he unceremoniously drops the metal panel, striding quickly out of the room.

Charles would undoubtedly question him on his interference, but right now he was more concerned with the attachment that had unknowingly festered and now became apparent. He didn't know if he was relieved to finally put a name to it, or disgusted at its existence. Either way, it begged to be dealt with, and alone. Charles could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else saw the Dark Phoenix trailer? Definitely inspired me to finish up this chapter


End file.
